A Quiet Covenant

For a long-distance couple living in separate lands and in a relationship forbidden by law, the decision to commit anyway is an act of quiet defiance. It is an acknowledgment that true marriage has never belonged to the registrar’s desk or the stamp of a bureaucrat; it is a living, breathing promise forged soul-to-soul.

Society often mistakes the shell for the substance. We treat the ceremony, the marriage certificate, and the public declaration as the origin of a bond, as if a piece of paper suddenly infuses two separate lives with meaning. Yet, legal recognition is a convenience of the modern state. For those separated by thousands of miles, the absence of a legal framework strips away all the superficiality. There is only the naked weight of a choice: "I choose you, across every mile, despite every obstacle or restriction".

This kind of commitment transforms distance from a barrier into a crucible. It requires an extraordinary act of faith to bind your future to someone you might only hold in your arms for a few weeks out of the year—and to do so knowing that the law of the land refuses to see you. Yet, that very invisibility can deepen the internal reality of the bond. 

To love across forbidden borders is to understand that freedom is not always granted from the top down; sometimes, it is practiced in private. The couple who commits in spite of the law redefines legitimacy; they strip marriage down to its elemental truth: an unwavering pledge of loyalty, and shared destiny. 

While the world may demand a certificate to quantify a relationship, the human heart knows a deeper arithmetic. Distance may test the endurance of the flesh, and hostile laws may threaten the sanction of the state, but a real marriage lives where the rules cannot reach—in the quiet, stubborn certainty that two people belong to each other.

Soulmate

Soulmate, 'sōl-māt', a person who is perfectly suited to another in temperament : a person who strongly resembles another in attitudes or beliefs. Merriam-Webster Dictionary. 

When we were younger 

And he died (Part 3)

Years passed and with the passage of time our friendship suffered change. The change was slow, gradual and subtle, but it was forced upon us by the increasingly limited opportunity available to enjoy the closeness that we once enjoyed, and still felt. It was brought on by a combination of factors; first, that we both were engaged in full-time careers; second, that as a family man TJ just could not be there as he had been before. And I was quite understanding of this too, taking every opportunity when it presented itself to visit him at his office at Bonny Camp, at Victoria Island, spending untold hours with him, just being together.

TJ was shortly going off to the United States of America on a training course, and I recall accompanying him from one military office to the other government office as he did the legwork necessary to put together all of the official paperwork for his trip; me dressed in my smart dark business suit, he in his even smarter Army Major's uniform; a uniform that caused doors to open with an alacrity that astonished me, whichever door it was that we knocked on.

On the night of his departure, we both said goodbye to his family at his home and it was I who drove him to the airport, where, when he had completed the formalities and was just about to go through the gate taking him air-side, his eyes boring into mine, we held each other for a brief moment, our hands on each other's shoulders. The words were unspoken, but they were clearly understood. "Thank you for being my friend, thank you for standing by me." 

Quite a feat, seeing how stiff and awkward TJ always was prior to that, a proclivity that had endeared him to me over the years. It is that evening of his departure that comprises the indelible memory of my friendship with TJ.

I use the word 'memory' because from the title of this story, it ought to have been clear from the beginning that this is not a story with a happy ending. TJ was away for a few weeks and shortly after his return, received a further promotion to Lieutenant Colonel, (he was only a Lieutenant when we first met twelve years earlier). 

I am not sure about this, but I will assume that the promotion also meant that he was qualified for different, presumably more prestigious housing, because he moved house, again. The promotion also led to him being reassigned from Bonny Camp to Defence HQ to do more security sensitive work, working long hours, making him quite inaccessible while at work. Thus not knowing where he now lived there was a period of about a few months after his return that I had no contact with him. And this was in the days before mobile telephony. 

Eventually, contact was re established and it was arranged that he would show me his new place on a date to be specified. 

Some time later, while at my work, a colleague of mine walked into my office with a strange look on his face. He started by stating that he had just been to see General Somebody at Defence HQ. The General was my colleague's personal client, and he had invited my colleague to his office to discuss some personal legal matter. While my colleague was seated in this General's office, some underling entered the room and confirmed to the General that the reports were true. 

Very upset by what he had just heard, the General narrated to my colleague the details of the report that he received a short while before. One of his senior officers had apparently died from a self-inflicted gunshot wound, mentioning the name of the officer. My colleague did not know TJ in person, but he knew of him and knew his name.

According to my colleague the General recounted that over the previous few weeks he had noticed a change in this officer's behaviour. He was withdrawn, and listless, something the General thought was unusual for this particular officer. After the report of the shooting it was explained to the General that the officer (TJ) had discovered that his wife had been having an affair with one of the couple's neighbours. This officer, in a blind rage, had broken into the home of this neighbour, and with his service revolver shot at the neighbour. He then walked back to his own residence, and placing the gun against his temple, shot himself dead, spattering bits of his brain across the wall and the stairwell. 

The bitter irony of this whole incident, was that the wife's suspected lover survived the gunshot and was taken to hospital.

It is impossible through writing to accurately describe or convey how distraught I became on hearing this news. Even after so many years, I don't believe I have successfully in my mind fully articulated my feelings surrounding this whole affair. As I said at the beginning, I shoved it aside, choosing instead not to think about it, in the vain hope that the pain somehow would go away. But it did not disappear, and continues to haunt me. I feel guilt. I feel as if I let down my dear friend. I should have been there for him in his time of distress. 

I believe that had I been aware, and been there for him, he would not have taken such drastic action. I would have been in a position to intervene. He must have felt so alone in his time of crisis. He was not one to make many friends, and certainly not friends in whom he would confide and entrust such a sensitive matter. He was introverted, and very proud; but he would have trusted me, and allowed me to hold his hand through that difficult time. I feel somehow that I let him down. I am sad that he went through such intense anguish, and I was not there for him. 

It is about eighteen years since TJ died, and I find myself for the first time breaking out in tears as I type this. Perhaps writing this story was the catharsis I needed, but if I'm to be honest, I did this not for me alone. I did it for TJ too, and to commemorate that wonderful closeness that we shared and enjoyed, that which two human beings can have between each other. He really did mean so much to me, and I still get the feeling that even after all I have written, I have not done justice to the beautiful thing that we shared. May his soul rest in peace.

Rest In Peace Ter.

(The end)

And he died (Part 2)

After the exams at the end of second year, TJ confided to me that he didn't feel confident about his performance and he worried about the likely results. Nevertheless, that summer holiday was perhaps the most memorable, for despite the fact we were not on campus and I was living at home miles away, (and even on occasion travelled out of town), TJ and I still managed to see each other practically on a daily basis. We had clearly become a significant part of each other's life, but as this was in the '80s, well before the age of the mobile phone and emails, our incessant rendezvous were arranged by strictly kept appointments. Sometimes, I found myself as a guest at some officers' mess or other, feeling distinctly out of place in the midst of all that boisterous military banter. And I recall with some fascination how a shirtless TJ suddenly stiffened and stood to attention when someone, whom he later confirmed was a Brigadier, strode past us one evening as he was walking me to the gate of his compound.

When the results of the exams were finally released, it came as no surprise that TJ had not made it. He would have to resit some papers during the holidays. And despite all of the support that I offered, he still didn't make it at the resit. So when third year began TJ was not seated beside me as he had been for all of the preceding two years. He would have to repeat second year in its entirety; he was now in a different class and was absent in the seat next to mine. It was a strange feeling not having him as a reference point and I suppose that this was when we started slowly to drift apart, being on different schedules and doing different things. By the end of third year, sometimes a whole week had passed before we would meet. And we would meet only either because he came knocking on the door of my room at the hostel, or because I went looking for him at his flat, in the vague hope that I would find him at home and alone.

Third year ended and I graduated from the university, but by this time things were no longer the same. I moved on to one year of Law School located across town, but this was a hectic, intensive course that did not allow for much free time. We weren't seeing each other half as frequently as before, since he remained at the university. And the fact that the nurse, not wanting to leave anything to chance, had now moved into his flat, didn't help matters either. However, that we did not meet as frequently as before did nothing to dampen the intensity upon which our friendship was formed and built, hence my reference to the phrase "more than friends" earlier. On the occasions when we found ourselves together, it was as if we'd never been apart. Sometimes, he would send word through another officer who lived near him, but who was also at Law School with me, to let me know that he missed me, even though such messages were coined in such a way as not to give away the true depth of feeling. And so it went on. 

But alas, my time at Law School came to an end. And while TJ was heading for his own one year at law school, I was winging it more than a thousand kilometres away to a place called Bauchi in the north of Nigeria for my one year of compulsory national youth service. It was during this one year that the distance between us began to grow. After my one year of service I stayed on in the North, and it must have been nearly three years before I made it back to Lagos for a visit. And of course I went looking for TJ, finally tracking him down, although he had been relocated from his bachelor-officer flat to a more ample family accommodation, still within the military cantonment. 

TJ had been promoted, and he had married. And his wife was heavily pregnant, a surge of realisation that sent me reeling momentarily. Before you start wondering, no, she wasn't that nurse that I knew.

All in all it was a great joy to see him again and from what I could tell, he seemed overjoyed to see me too. And the Mrs, well, she was extremely pleasant and welcoming, and she and I got on famously, a fact which effect on TJ was not lost on me. Obviously, she meant a lot to him and the joy that he exuded was palpable, almost tangible. I too was greatly happy to see such joy in his eyes. And when he dropped me off that evening, sitting together in the car, he let me know that my presence on that day brought it all together for him. I'd never seen him so happy.

Moving forward in time, I eventually moved back to Lagos. By this time TJ and his Mrs had given birth to two strapping boys both of whom I was very fond of, and I would visit them frequently at their new home. TJ had been promoted again, and they now lived in a big house. The boys loved me too, and since I'm quite good with kids, we were a happy bunch indeed.

My friendship with TJ remained pretty much as it always was, quiet, intimate conversations sitting together in the car on a dark street, (I discussed things with him that I could discuss with no one else - and vice-versa, I'd like to think); going for very long walks usually setting out around sunset so as to be together for as long as possible; walks on the beach; me sitting on the side watching him play tennis. I enjoyed being with him. 

And so it went on, for a while, until the day when the news came to me.

(To be continued)

"Freedom without my lover is useless and meaningless"

Tiwonge Chimbalanga and Steven Monjeza are taken into custody after celebrating their engagement, The Guardian

Renowned rights campaigner Peter Tatchell has told the Guardian newspaper that he has received a message of defiance from Tiwonge Chimbalanga, one half of the Malawian same-sex couple who are currently facing criminal charges of 'unnatural practices between males' and 'gross indecency'. In the message, Chimbalanga stated "I love Steven too much. If people of the world cannot give me the chance and freedom to continue living with him as my lover, then I am better off to die here in prison. Freedom without him is useless and meaningless."

Tatchell who has maintained contact with the couple since they have been in prison also quoted Steven Monjeza (the other half of the couple) as saying, "We have come a long way and even if our family relatives are not happy, I will never stop loving Tiwonge." The couple who have been refused bail, have been remanded in prison custody since last December. The verdict of the court in the trial of this heroic couple is due next week. It has been said that currently Steven looks "thin and weak", with "jaundiced eyes".

Residents of the Machinjiri township on the outskirts of Blantyre where the couple have their home have responded angrily, saying that they will not allow the couple to return home if they are set free.

"They have given this township a bad name", said Maikolo Phiri, a local vendor.

Zione Monjeza, an aunt of Steven said, "We as a family have been terribly embarrassed to be associated with this gay thing. It's a curse and a big shame. We will chase them away if they are freed."

Nchiteni Monjeza, Steven's uncle, said: "I won't drop a tear if they are jailed. They deserve it."

For me the couple are social revolutionaries who deserve the support of all right-thinking people. Malawi is one of the poorest countries in Africa where more than half of the population live below the poverty line. Tobacco is the country's main export and the use of child labour is rampant. This worrying BBC World Service report elaborates on the problem of families who due to poverty are forced to send their children to work in the tobacco fields, thereby denying the children their childhood, and their right to education. There is much talk about unscrupulous and uncaring large international tobacco companies, but my mind tells me that the government of Malawi are more directly responsible for the welfare of the child-citizens of the country than any international company is. The Malawian government, as with many other governments in Africa, continues to fail their people. Employers of child labour are not pursued and prosecuted, even though under Malawian law the employment of children is illegal.

While child labour can be defined as any work, which by its nature or employment conditions is detrimental to a child's physical, mental, moral, social or emotional development, the "Worst Forms of Child Labour" refers to the types of work for children described in Article 3 of the International Labour Organisation (ILO) Convention 182. Article 3 of the Convention, among other things, emphasises any work, which is "likely" to harm a child's health, safety or morals, such as, in this case the work carried out in the tobacco and tea estates of Malawi.

For statistics on child labour in Malawi you may take a look at [download] this very detailed ILO report. For the year 2000 the ILO projected 445,000 economically active children between the ages of 10 and 14 working as child labourers, representing 31.5% of this age group, 216,000 girls and 229,000 boys. The report also observed that being tender physically, children are susceptible to various work-related injuries and illnesses to a greater degree than adults doing the same kind of work, and that a high percentage of the children were physically injured or fell ill while working.

Interestingly just last evening I saw a report on this same subject on Channel 4's Unreported World. (Please click on the link and see the Unreported World report. It will be available online only for about one month from the date of this blog post). Unlike the reporter however, who apparently sought to blame the big tobacco companies, I put the blame squarely on the shoulders of the Malawian government for failing to protect the children of the country. 

And yet it is this same government that will enthusiastically pursue and persecute harmless homosexual men. I eagerly await the verdict next Tuesday and the fallout thereafter if the couple are jailed.

The Malawi Law Society (MLS), the professional body of the country's 200 lawyers, has spoken out in favour of the couple, saying that they are "not a threat to the society" and should be freed. This is an about-turn from a few months ago when Malawian lawyers proclaimed that the couple broke the law and deserve to face justice. It is a clear example of the effectiveness of the efforts of rights campaigners worldwide, who since this saga began in December 2009, have ceaselessly stressed the injustice that is inherent in the continued detention of the couple and how unlikely it is that they will get a fair trial in the face of such massively hostile public opinion.

The demons inside my head

I woke up one cold winter's morning years ago. I was in love, and I felt wonderful. My love and I had been on the phone the night before and everything seemed fine. It was only weeks previously that we had slept together in this very same bed in which I was now waking up to behold the whiteness and the magnificence of the snowy vista that was the view from my bedroom window. There was not the slightest indication that there might be a problem. I was in love and as I re-entered the bed and curled myself up under the duvet, warm thoughts of this love in my mind, I assumed that this must be what happiness feels like.

This love and I had met nine months before. During that time we had developed the kind of relationship that I had always dreamt of, both of us at par intellectually. The relationship was stimulating and exciting, and the feeling of knowing that this person felt the same as I did was heart-warming. I thought it was a secure place, a place that I hoped would be intact forever. But how wrong I was proved to be, because on this very same day, by sunset, I had received word from this love by email and by phone that unfortunately we would not be continuing with our relationship. In short, I was being told the words "It's over!" An attempt was made at providing an explanation, and the reason given made sense too. We were separated by distance.

But this was a factor we knew about from the onset and one that we had both agreed we would work around, with a view at some point to removing this barrier completely. Somehow, I seemed to have been the bolder more optimistic one, because although I could see no immediate prospect of removing the distance barrier in the foreseeable future, I held on to the hope that our love would see us through. Haven't we all heard that love conquers all? Anyhow, this 'news' hit me like a freight train. I was disbelieving at first and thought it might be just a bad dream. Then I speculated, "No, they couldn't have meant that", trying to make sense of what I'd just been told, you know, trying to rationalise. "They'll soon come to their senses", I would say to myself. But as the hours went by and turned into days, the reality became stronger.

Since I was so mentally and psychologically unprepared for this calamity, the full impact of it was lost on me for a few days yet. But when the pain and the rejection eventually crashed upon me, I was a complete wreck. Its impact on me was that it is likely that I didn't eat a proper meal for weeks, and I have a vague recollection of wandering the streets aimlessly, sometimes not even remembering to wear a coat to keep out the cold. I failed to turn up for work for about a month, and remember once being brought home to my front door in a police patrol car in the middle of the night. I think I must have been found walking alone, dazed, on the deserted street. The fact is that I basically lost my mind.

It took a gargantuan effort on my part to get through this period and to pull myself together. But the pain, always, the pain. It caused me to dig deep into my emotional and mental reserves and forced me to button up, sit down and study for my qualifying exams, which I had been putting off for years. But the emotional wound was deep and it healed very slowly indeed. 

I was never going to let this happen to me ever again, I promised myself. So going forward I seem to have carried with me to any new relationship the baggage from this episode in my life. I am constantly haunted by the fear that this will happen again, and this fear has influenced my conduct within subsequent relationships that I've been in. And I'm not sure if it's a good thing, since I'm constantly treading carefully (perhaps overly) being too fearful to commit and to give my all as I know I'm capable of doing.

I have written this post in the hope that talking about it will purge my mind of this fear. My self-confidence and self-esteem have taken a severe bashing. Its impact upon my life is profound and I have considered seeking some kind of professional help. Sometime this week I'm booked to see a psychiatrist. I guess this sounds like I'm a bit wonky in the head, but really I think it's for the best.